


Doppleganger

by anathemagerminabunt



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemagerminabunt/pseuds/anathemagerminabunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover in which Martin Crieff comes face to face with Sherlock Holmes and finds himself having to answer the question, if you were locked in a room with your clone, would you fight or fuck?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppleganger

“This has definite potential,” the man drawls, eying Martin with an intensity that makes him squirm.

“Potential?” Martin glances around the flat. “I'm not sure-- it's just-- is Mrs. Hudson here? This _is_ her residence, right, I haven't wound up at the wrong address again, have I? Only--”

The man unwinds his impossibly long limbs from the far armchair, rising to his feet to stride across the room. He stops short just in front of Martin, pressing his lips together as he raises a hand. “Stop talking.”

“O...kay?”

“Pilot, obviously.” This is muttered, clearly a rhetorical statement ( _Can statements be rhetorical_ , Martin wonders, panic slowly setting in) and triggers a whole host of questions that he doesn't dare ask. “Thirty-three and already a Captain, my my. Oh, but not a very good one. Low pay-- _no_ pay. Charter airline. Youngest of two siblings, single for the past twelve years. Ah, yes, and an allergy to strawberries.”

Martin gapes. “What-- how-- who _are_ you?”

“Sherlock Holmes, not that it's relevant. It's remarkable.”

“Yes,” Martin breathes, stunned and immobile. Where on _earth_ was Mrs. Hudson? And what the utter hell was going on? “Yes, it is. Bordering on the frankly terrifying. Look, how did you--”

Sherlock sighs, spinning on his heel and retreating to the far corner in a flurry of activity. “I saw. And while I am most certainly and in every variable way remarkable, I was referring to your facial structure.”

Here, Martin sighs in relief. Here is some ground he understands, something he can cling to. “Yeah. Yeah, about that, you're not--” He chuckles nervously. “You're not some sort of evil twin of mine, are you?”

Never before has he suffered under such a withering look, and he's spent the past few years subjecting himself to Carolyn.

“Ah. No, then?”

“No,” Sherlock replies dryly.

“Long-lost relative?”

There's a vague look of horror in response to that. “Dear god, I should hope not.”

“Clone experiment that went horribly awry?” Martin hopes.

“Please, keep going, I can't wait for you to reach the conclusion that magic elves did it.”

“Right. That clone thing was probably a little-- it's just. It's _just_ like looking in a mirror.” Martin pauses, adding, “A taller, dark-haired, graceful, more attractive mirror, but--”

“Ah, good.” Sherlock grins suddenly and Martin decides he definitely never wants to see that expression again. “We're on the same page.”

Dread floods Martin. “Page?”

Stalking toward him, Sherlock reaches a finger out and carefully traces the outline of Martin's lips. He very manfully does _not_ squeak, thank you. “I believe there's a maxim that when in such a situation as this, you have one of two options. And as I'd really prefer to avoid a fight to the death-- cleaning blood stains out of carpet is so _tedious_ \-- that only leaves us with the second choice, wouldn't you say?”

“Uh...” Martin swallows hard, ignoring the way his heart rate picks up. “Yes, that-- what?”

Leaning in, Sherlock presses his mouth against Martin's ear and positively purrs, “When faced with your clone, you have the choice to either kill them or... fuck them.”

“Uuung.”

“Quite.” Wrapping his long fingers around Martin's wrist, Sherlock pulls him from the room and toward a back hallway, instantly banishing all thoughts of Mrs. Hudson from his mind-- all thoughts in general, actually. “Now cease your drivel, it puts me off.”

“Right,” Martin agrees, dazed. He licks his lips, unwilling to examine this turn of events too closely lest his luck interfere. “Right. That's... brilliant.”

He can worry later.


End file.
